<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>What the Hell is a Pulmonary Embolism? by vmreed</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23269960">What the Hell is a Pulmonary Embolism?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/vmreed/pseuds/vmreed'>vmreed</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Angst, Can’t believe there’s not a tag for that, Chopped Madness, F/M, I mean a whole lotta angst, POV Harper McIntyre, Round One, Strangers to Lovers, angst central here</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:48:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,181</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23269960</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/vmreed/pseuds/vmreed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Harper McIntyre wasn’t trained for this.</p><p>She was just a tour guide, how was she supposed to deal with the bus crashing in the middle of nowhere?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clarke Griffin &amp; Harper McIntyre, Clarke Griffin/John Murphy, Harper McIntyre &amp; John Murphy, Monty Green/Harper McIntyre</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Chopped Madness</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What the Hell is a Pulmonary Embolism?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Harper McIntyre straightened her tie as the first of her passengers approached. He was an elderly man, which was usual for <em>Arkadia Tours</em>. </p><p>She held out her hand when he was within reach, “Good morning, sir! My name is Harper, and I’ll be your guide on this exciting adventure!”</p><p>He switched his red cane to his other hand and grasped her forearm firmly. “You rehearse that, hun?” He asked with a genial smile as she squeezed his arm.</p><p>After a hearty laugh from both, he introduced himself as Ben Redmon and she crossed him off her list quickly to meet the next passenger.</p><p>She was young, Harper’s own age, if she had to guess. She was a contradiction, a cherubic face clashing with a black leather jacket and army boots.</p><p>Harper was slightly put off when she showed no reaction to her scripted greeting, but she kept the surprise off her face. “May I have your name, Miss…?” </p><p>“Clarke Griffin.” The woman supplied, scampering onto the large blue bus as soon as Harper had handed her the itinerary.</p><p>Fifteen minutes later, all but one of the tourists had signed in. She glanced at the only name not crossed out when she spotted an angry looking man headed her way. She didn’t bother with the required greeting, worried that would make him angrier.</p><p>“John Murphy?” She asked. He simply nodded and accepted the proffered itinerary.</p><p>Satisfied, she climbed on the bus, checking who was sitting behind her. As tour guide, she always sat at the front, and the people in the seats behind her usually fell into one of two categories: lively chatterboxes and quiet observers.</p><p>It was quite a shock when she saw the angry man smile at Clarke Griffin, who was seated behind Harper, and grip her forearm as he took the empty seat next to her. “Princess,” he began, “Looks like you’re pissed.”</p><p>Just like that, Clarke exploded. “My dad died a few weeks ago, Cockroach, of course I’m pissed!”</p><p>Harper was both sympathetic and scared, a combination she didn't think possible. Whatever conversation she walked into the middle of was clearly passionate.</p><p>John’s eyebrows knitted together in understanding, “Guess we have shit in common, Princess. My pops is gone too.”</p><p>As they both calmed down, Harper felt like she was intruding on a private moment, scrambling to ring the stupid cowbell Jaha felt was necessary for his tour company.</p><p>“Good morning, folks!” She said in her peppiest voice yet, “Welcome to our three-day tour of rural Canada! Our first stop is coming up in a few hours, so get your cameras ready!”</p><p>————</p><p>They never made it to the first stop. </p><p>Two hours in, her long-time bus driver Carl collapsed, and the bus flew off the road, landing on its side.</p><p>In the chaos of passengers screaming and fighting their seatbelts, she was able to quickly open the escape hatch, her calm and logical side taking over.</p><p>Dread built in her heart when she realized that except for three people (herself included), every passenger was over the age of seventy.</p><p>After the hatch was propped open, she started grabbing folks from the back first, helping them escape their seats and shimmy through the opening. She was only on her third person, and she was already exhausted.</p><p>The old woman she was basically carrying was suddenly much lighter, and she looked up, panting, to see John Murphy helping the woman (Jane Nguyen, she remembered), support herself. </p><p>A few feet ahead, Clarke Griffin was pulling Ben Redmon out of the now burning bus. With the three of them working together, they managed to get everyone out and far away from the bus before the inevitable gasoline explosion hit.</p><p>Unfortunately, a few of those people were already corpses.</p><p>She gathered Clarke and John, who also seemed to have a sense of calm logic, trying to formulate some semblance of a plan, “You guys got any bars?”</p><p>Both replied in the negative. “Alright, here’s the plan. We take care of everyone who needs medical attention first, then someone walks until they get service and calls 911, or whatever 911 is in Canada.” Clarke said.</p><p>“That sounds great, but I only know basic first-aid.” Harper said.</p><p>Clarke stepped forward, “I’m a surgeon. I can handle the critical cases if you want to start on open wounds.” She said to Harper. “John?”</p><p>“I’m a paramedic, so I’ll handle life-threatening stuff with Clarke.” John said.</p><p>Harper sighed in relief. “Alright, we have our marching orders. Let’s go.”</p><p>————</p><p>She crouched over Ben as she disinfected the large gash on his calf. Clarke and John were perched over Carl the bus driver five feet ahead. “He’s got a pulse, but I’ll give him CPR to be sure.” Clarke said, placing her clasped hands over his exposed chest.</p><p>“Clarke stop!” John said, holding up Carl’s left hand. </p><p>“Blue fingernails.” Clarke said, panic seeping into her voice. “Pulmonary Embolism, he needs fifteen ccs of heparin, now.”</p><p>She turned to face Harper. “Got any heparin or an oxygen mask in there?” She asked, gesturing to the first-aid kit.</p><p>Harper was quick to rifle through, coming up empty on both fronts. “Ugh!” Clarke exclaimed after a head shake from Harper.</p><p>“That means there’s nothing we can do for him.” John said.</p><p>In the end, they had to choose between monitoring Carl closely or treating everyone else’s wounds. They chose the latter.</p><p>Carl stopped breathing, and Harper died a little bit too.</p><p>————</p><p>Everyone eventually got all the help they could offer, but sometimes it wasn’t enough.</p><p>Half of her passengers were dead by the end of the day.</p><p>She took a moment to breathe, sitting in the middle of the blood-littered clearing. Clarke and John weren’t far, and John left a kiss on Clarke’s forehead when he jogged off to find cell service.</p><p>————</p><p>It was night when he returned, and the ambulances soon followed. </p><p>The three insisted on helping everyone get on, and it was only when Harper was strapped down to a stretcher that she saw Clarke grab John by the collar and pull his mouth to hers. </p><p>Harper was only able to see John return the kiss for a few moments before the ambulance doors closed her in.</p><p>————</p><p><em>Days of Our Lives</em> was playing on the tiny hospital TV when her boyfriend burst through the door.</p><p>No words were needed, and they sat there hugging for at least ten minutes. “I missed you, Monty.” She said.</p><p>He pulled away to look in her eyes. “I can’t even imagine what you went through.” He said.</p><p>His words seemed far away as she remembered the blue of the sky as it was burned through, Carl Zimmerman dying with his daughters a hundred miles away, Jane Nguyen’s firm grip loosening as she died.</p><p>But she also remembered Ben Redmon’s kind smile that never wavered, and how Fran Lance, a rabbi, performed last rites for the dead.</p><p>But most of all, she remembered how two lost souls found each other, and the love clear in their hearts.</p><p>She squeezed his hand. “It wasn’t all bad.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you enjoyed my submission for Round 1 of Chopped Madness! The theme for this round was Road Trip AU, and the tropes were angst and strangers to lovers, with Harper being the focal character. (By the way, a pulmonary embolism is a blood clot in the lungs, and CPR could move it into the heart. Heparin is a blood thinner). I thought it would be interesting to write a love story from an outside perspective, so here it is!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>